


Don't Let Go

by Lunafeather



Series: Say It Softer Now [4]
Category: Good Girls (TV)
Genre: Angry but Tender Rio, Angst, F/M, Hopeful Ending, Rio POV, Rio is In His Feelings, Unresolved Romantic Tension, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-03
Updated: 2020-05-03
Packaged: 2021-03-01 20:21:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,876
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23982982
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lunafeather/pseuds/Lunafeather
Summary: He doesn’t exactly mind the opportunity to make a point to Rufus and his cronies, it’s about time, but he doesn’t trust Rufus, knows that if he gets the chance, he’ll corner Elizabeth and pick her apart, mentally and physically -- and Rio didn’t put up with her bullshit for the last year, didn’t survive her shooting him and then trying to claim his title, teaching herself to make cash, and failing to kill her himself, to let another man have a go.She’s HIS.ORThat time Rio takes care of Beth and he's Big Mad About It.
Relationships: Beth Boland/Rio
Series: Say It Softer Now [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1726285
Comments: 12
Kudos: 157





	Don't Let Go

**Author's Note:**

> Anon Said: "don't let go."
> 
> Set after Season 3, assuming the hitman plot fizzled out and balance was relatively restored.

So the whole disaster starts like this:

Elizabeth manages to get herself swept up with a small collection of counterfeiters, trying, as usual, to branch out and undermine his business. For some reason, she refuses to accept that their careers, their lives, are forever intertwined, whether she likes it or not -- it’s not that he’s real happy about it lately either.

Her first mistake is using her body to get the ring leader’s attention. Her second mistake is not making sure that the guy isn’t connected to Rio. Her third mistake is, as always, assuming all other members of this business are as kind or forgiving as Rio, as decent.

Rufus ain’t even a normal human being. He’s cruel and calculated, possibly psychopathic -- kills for fun, for _sport_. He enjoys using torture to extract information, barter deals, and as entertainment.

By the time Rio finds out she’s meeting with him -- _alone_ , because of fucking course she would be that naive, does she never learn? -- she’s already left her house and he has to call in a favor to squeeze the location of the meeting out of a… mutual contact. He doesn’t exactly mind the opportunity to make a point to Rufus and his cronies, it’s about time, but he doesn’t trust Rufus, knows that if he gets the chance, he’ll corner Elizabeth and pick her apart, mentally and physically -- and Rio didn’t put up with her bullshit for the last year, didn’t survive her shooting him and then trying to claim his title, teaching herself to make cash, and failing to kill her himself, to let another man have a go.

She’s _his_.

His first mistake is parking a long ways down the road so as not to draw attention to his arrival. Shrouded in black, gun in his hand and ready to fire, he slinks towards the abandoned two story loft, eyes and ears peeled for Rufus’ men. It’s just past twilight, and a gentle wind lifts and rustles dried leaves down the sidewalk, the night crisp with the threat of rain. None of Rufus’ men linger outside the front of the building, and Rio realizes that Elizabeth must have parked in the back alley. He doesn’t have time to walk back around the block, so he continues on his way, hoping the front entrance isn’t boarded up -- or that it’s a least easily broken into.

It’s his second mistake.

He realizes it the moment he gets to what used to be the front door to the loft -- a heavy, crumbling along the edges door propped up in its hinges by wooden planks, and that’s all the detail he can take in before a voice shatters the quiet of the street -- a woman shrieking _no._

_Elizabeth._

Rio shoves his gun into the back of his waistband and launches himself at the door, ripping roughly at the boards, the first giving way with a groan of wet, moldy wood snapping around rusted nails. A commotion clatters above him -- maybe a struggle, maybe a fight -- two muffled voices overlapping one another, one definitely Elizabeth’s shrill cry, the other low and rumbling. Even more distant shouts from a few different men, boots thudding against concrete. Rio growls as one of the planks stubbornly clings to the door frame. His pulse pounds in his ears.

A loud crash and the sound of glass shattering drives him to throw all of his body weight against the door with enough force that it crumples in on itself and sends him sprawling. He pushes to his feet in time for one of Rufus’ men to careen around the corner, almost toppling over Rio -- who uses the man’s surprise and his own momentum to swing his fist until it’s connecting with the man’s jaw. The guy stumbles back and into a wall, but then he’s pulling his gun out and -- he drops it, his fingers going lifeless as Rio’s bullets burrow into his chest.

Another man appears, gun already out, but Rio is quick and takes him down, too. He can still hear the noise from above, the scratching and bumping spiking his adrenaline, so he hurries down the hallway, but then there’s a loud thump, another yell, a scrabbling on the ground above and a shriek, and his stomach lurches. He grabs the corner of the staircase to swing around, about to launch himself up it -- only Elizabeth is there, tumbling down the steps and colliding into him, knocking them both down.

“Rio!” Her voice is reedy, rasping on his name, and she hiccups on a sob.

Rio yanks her up by the shoulders of her coat and drags her back the way he came, barely able to take in her wild eyes and what looks like bruises forming around her dainty throat. He’s half carrying her while she pants loudly, and they should be going faster, there’s likely more of Rufus’ men coming, but Elizabeth whimpers like it hurts -- and that’s when he notices she’s limping, unable to put weight on her right foot.

Cursing under his breath, he bends and throws her over his shoulder, fireman style, ignoring her shriek and the way her fingernails claw uselessly at his back. He gets them out the door and down the street a little before she really starts flailing, kicking her knees into his belly and driving her elbow into the back of his neck, screeching, “Put me down!”, her voice a panicked whine.

“Would you stop?” he hisses.

But she keeps struggling, despite his attempts to quiet her, to clutch her against him, her writhing making him sway dangerously close to losing his balance and sending them both down.

He angrily ducks into a small alcove at the front of an empty storefront, her scrambling down his body despite his best efforts to lower her himself. The last few seconds of her descent, his arms are still tight around her back, anchoring her to him through her thrashing, their bodies pressed tightly together. She stops struggling when her toes touch concrete, and then they’re staring at each other, breathing labored, noses practically brushing. Elizabeth’s rage melts into surprise at their proximity, while Rio just frowns furiously back.

It’s been _months_ since they’ve been this close.

Rio licks his lips. Her eyes flick to his mouth and back.

He can’t lie -- he’s missed the feeling of her curves, her perfume mixed with her lotion and that smell that’s just _her._ And he’s always been caught by her dark blue eyes. He watches a blush spread across her nose and down her throat, sliding his hands down to her hips, his brows furrowing when the marks on her skin start looking a bit like --

The moment seems to last a lifetime, but he realizes it’s just a quick snap as outraged shouts sound behind him -- Rufus’ men finding their comrade’s bodies, no doubt. He glances around the edge of the alcove, doesn’t see any of them following, but they will be shortly. He meets Elizabeth’s gaze again, his eyes hard.

“If you can’t run, I gotta carry you.”

“But--”

“Nah, Elizabeth. I dunno where Rufus is, what you did, but those guys’ll be on our asses real quick, and we need to get movin’. So if you can’t run, I _have_ to carry you. That, or I leave you.”

She glares back, gnawing at her lip, stubborn and defiant as always, but then she nods, almost imperceptible. He nods, too.

“A'ight, lean back.”

She does, yelping at the movement, and it’s probably broken if she can’t even stand that much weight on it, but he cuts off that thought and bends to swoop her back over his shoulder.

It’s a lot easier when she complies.

“Keep an eye out while you’re back there, yeah?” He can’t help the dark amusement in his tone, knows she heard it when she pinches his side in retaliation.

When they get to his Mercedes, he gently lowers her to her feet, setting her away so he doesn’t get caught by her again and then helping her climb into the passenger seat.

As soon as they’re on the road, Rio peeling out into the street and accelerating towards the highway, Elizabeth says, her voice warbling, “I don’t think I’m getting my van back, am I?”

Rio smirks, despite his aggravation. “Nah, Mama. I don’t think you are.” He pauses, then glances at her. “‘Least, not the way you left it.”

“Good thing there are no dubbies in there this time, huh?” It's a mumble, almost more to herself than him, but she does shoot him a sad little smile.

He swallows and keeps driving. Lets himself simmer in his anger.

The sniffles don’t start until about ten minutes later, when their adrenaline and their breathing has evened out. Her forehead is against the window and she fiddles with her coat sleeves, her fingers absently rubbing over her palms. She tries to be subtle when she swipes at her face, but then she stutters out a quiet sob and Rio immediately pulls over, flicking his hazards on.

He turns and looks at her, only reaching out when she shifts further away, hiding.

“Lemme see, Ma.”

She shakes her head. “I’m fine.”

Rio rolls his eyes. “Elizabeth.”

It takes a moment -- a long moment -- and then she turns until her body is facing him. He holds out his hands, patient like he is with Marcus, keeping his face passive and blank. She’s biting her lip when she lays the backs of her hands against his palms.

He curses softly.

Cuts and slices splatter across her palms, blood oozing from the deeper ones, the smaller ones already clotted. A bruise circles her right wrist with a mottled band of purple and blue. Rio slides his hands up until he’s grasping her forearms and tugs her so that she’s leaning towards him, lifting one hand to flip on the cabin light, then tries to get a glimpse at her face, her throat --

But she tips her head down and away, her hair a blonde curtain blocking him from seeing the damage.

“Hey, look at me,” he says, his voice gruff.

She doesn’t move. He tucks two fingers under her chin, presses his thumb into the dimple there, and tips her face back up and towards him so that the light from the mirror illuminates her neck. Already, angry red marks dapple her fair skin, a ghostly imprint of Rufus' fingers. Rio's mouth draws into a hard line, the hairs on his arm standing on end. He feels white hot fury curl up from his belly to his sternum, ricocheting off the three scars she left in him and settling in his own throat, choking him.

“What happened?” He doesn’t mean for it to come out as a rumbling growl, but it’s too late.

She blinks back more tears, frozen at his touch, and he can't tell if she's embarrassed or terrified.

He's never wanted her to be scared of him less than he does now.

The moment stretches on, and he knows he isn’t masking the rage swirling through him very well, but doesn’t know if she can tell who it’s aimed at. And yeah, he’s pretty fucking angry with her, but he had been _worried_ and he had thought he might not get there in time -- Elizabeth tugs her head away and levels him with that steely blue stare he’s grown to admire and also _loathe_. She shakes her head.

He stares back, his eyes tracing over the slope of her nose, the pinched line of her mouth, the tiny blood droplets splattered on her skin -- then he draws back into his seat, carefully wiping the emotion from his face as he gets out of the car without another word and goes to the trunk, pulling it open to retrieve the first aid kit he keeps on him at all times. Every movement is meticulously controlled, his muscles pulled taut.

He can't let himself forget who she is and what she's done, especially if she won't.

Elizabeth observes him warily when he returns, but still refuses to speak. He cleans her hands with a baby wipe, diligently picks out any glass still embedded in the cuts, and bandages and wraps them. She makes no noise throughout, though he can see her wincing and holding her breath out of the corner of his eye.

Once finished there, he takes another wipe and pauses, catching her eye, hesitating but also asking a question, and he’s not sure if she understands and consents or if she’s just being difficult -- she simply looks back at him, her expression simultaneously blank and wide open. He lifts the wipe to her face and slowly drags it across her skin -- forehead, cheeks, nose, chin -- and she keeps her gaze locked with his the entire time, save for when he swipes the wet cloth over her eyes. He methodically removes the blood specks, her tear tracks, her ruined makeup, erasing the last few hours and then her facade.

The whole thing feels charged, like the air is pricking and crackling against his skin, and the sensation swells when he touches the wipe to her lips, tenderly, more like a caress than anything, removing her lipstick and then pulling down, tugging her lower lip towards her chin until her mouth opens just a little, just enough for her to stutter a tiny breath against his fingers, before releasing it and watching it bounce back into place.

He thinks the startled expression on her face probably matches his.

Rio swallows, fracturing the tension, severing that connection, and starts packing away the first aid kit. Elizabeth quietly folds her hands in her lap, blinking rapidly but still saying nothing.

They pull back onto the freeway.

He defaults to heading to her house, but then suddenly remembers --

“Dean home? And your kids?” His fingers tighten around the steering wheel, his thumbs drumming against the leather.

Elizabeth glances at him, jolted by the question. A breath, a swallow, and then, “Yes.”

Rio’s mouth twists and he sniffs sharply. He shouldn’t be surprised that she’s still with her dumbass husband, and he definitely shouldn’t be annoyed -- pissed, really -- about it. She acts like a boss bitch, obviously wants to be a boss bitch, but doesn’t want to confront the difficult truths about her suburban mommy life. Pretends she’s livin’ her happily ever after with a six and a half foot tall ape who doesn’t know the real her, doesn’t know what she’s capable of, doesn’t respect --

He rolls his shoulders, rocks his jaw back and forth, and makes a decision. “I’m takin’ you back to mine.”

“But--”

He turns and settles her with a hard frown. “You really think that husband o’ yours is gonna take one look at you and not lose his damn mind?”

Her expression shifts, clouding with something he can’t quite read, and then she turns back to the window.

“Fine.”

Silence.

Until, “Marcus? Is he--”

“With Rhea.”

She nods. Her fingernails pick at the gauze wrapped around her hands.

Rio keeps his eye on the road.

* * *

He pulls into his complex, a gated community of sleek, modern homes, each situated on an acre or more of land, giving the clientele the privacy they demand. Rio can see Elizabeth perk up as he navigates to his home, her wide eyes eagerly absorbing every detail. They pull up to his sprawling split level and he hops out before she can comment, coming around to help her down.

She opens her mouth, surely about to boss him around, but he ignores her and scoops her up bridal style and carries her to the front door.

She’s so dumbfounded that her voice dies in her throat.

With her softness pressed against him, her ass bumping his crotch, her breasts against his chest and his fingers splayed against the side of them, he latches onto his previous fury -- at her for being so fuckin’ stupid, at Rufus for being a pig, for _hurting_ her -- to keep himself straight. It would be too easy to forgive her, to let the relief that she made it out relatively unscathed wash over him, to show his hand and give her the satisfaction of besting him.

No, he’ll ignore her arms wrapping around his neck and clinging to him, he’ll ignore her defeatedly laying her forehead against his neck, and the tickle of her hair on his chin.

He carries her into one of his spare rooms and cautiously deposits her on the bed, then leaves to retrieve a pair of sweats and a t-shirt for her to sleep in, grabs some oxy and a glass of water as he goes -- if she got as physical as it sounds like she did, her body will be protesting any minute now. When he returns to her, she’s got one boot off and is struggling to unzip the other, whining in the back of her throat with the effort.

He drops the clothes and water and pills on the side table next to her and watches her pitiful yanking and tugging until it gets old, swatting her hands away to do it himself. The zipper won’t budge.

Rio looks at her, waiting until she meets his eye.

“No,” she says, voice pathetic.

He tilts his head.

“No.” Firmer this time.

“If you want it to come off, I have to.”

Her eyes fill with tears. Her lip wobbles. She lifts her eyes to the ceiling and sniffles.

“Okay.”

“Take those,” he points at the pills.

He’s surprised she complies so easily, isn’t surprised when she stares at the light fixture over his shoulder while he takes a pair of hefty scissors to her leather boot. It’s not the easiest cut he’s made, but a few minutes later and it’s done, and he’s tugging it off of her.

Her socks match.

He tugs them off, too.

“Your body achin’ yet?”

Elizabeth watches him curiously, seemingly entranced by him helping her undress. She snaps out of it and blinks a few times. “My body?”

“Yeah.”

She rolls her shoulders, winces.

“A little.”

He nods. “Gonna get a lot worse,” he points out as he examines her ankle. It’s swollen a few times its normal size, a nasty artwork of purple, grey, and yellow. She hisses when he brushes it with his fingers.

“You can go now,” she growls, haughty. _Dismissing_ him.

His eyebrows pop up and he licks his lower lip, tugging it between his teeth and sucking loudly. “Ain’t nothin’ I haven’t seen before, sweetheart,” he says scathingly, smirking with the power of those words.

Elizabeth blushes and folds her arms across her chest. They stare at each other, neither giving an inch, until --

“Fine, I’ll leave you to it. Lemme know how it goes, yeah?”

She scoffs as he leaves.

Ten minutes later, from his bedroom down the hall, he hears her struggling violently, cursing and panting, and then a timid, “Rio.” When he enters the room again, she’s gotten out of her coat and shirt and into his, and has her jeans tugged a couple inches down, where she must have gotten stuck.

He plays dumb, giving her a gormless look. “Oh, I’m sorry, did you need my help?”

She glares. “Are you going to make me beg?”

A grin splits across his face, his eyes sparkling. “Nah, mama, you know I like to be a lil’ more up close and personal for that.”

That gets her eyes rolling. “Please spare me.”

He ignores her and instead gets started on completing her task, gripping the waistband of her jeans and carefully peeling them down her legs. He swallows as her panties -- plain, magenta, cotton -- come into view, then the swells of her thighs, her creamy skin endlessly smooth and perfect. It’s sudden, the memory that slams into him, of burying his face between them, nipping and sucking at her until he had marked her up, an unmistakable claim of ownership before lavishing her with his tongue until she _had_ begged.

Something electric, something powerful, makes him look up at her then, and he finds her gazing at him, her mouth open and breath held, and it’s like there’s a web of sparks connecting them, alive and thrumming and hovering on the edge of reality, tethering them in a way that he knows is unbreakable. Even through his annoyance, and his anger, and his worry, it’s there, binding them, forcing them into each other’s orbits -- he’ll keep coming back to her, no matter how hard he tries to stay away. He knows it like he knows his own name.

And from the naked vulnerability in her eyes, he thinks she might feel it, too.

The moment shatters as she cries out in pain, and Rio looks down and realizes he had mindlessly been removing her jeans and yanked too rough around her knees, enough to jostle her ankle.

That’s when he notices the bruises.

They’re scattered across the outside of her right thigh, facing away from him and previously hidden, snaking up to her hip. Rio’s eyes follow them, sees more peeking out from where his shirt has ridden up over her belly. He moves before Elizabeth can process what’s happening and pushes the material higher, sucking in a breath at the bruises at the top of her abdomen and across her ribs. His eyes skirt over to her upper arm -- more mottled, battered skin barely concealed by the sleeve of the t-shirt.

That ruthless fury returns, like a hot coal has been dropped in his belly and tugs him down, down, down, to the depths of hell -- and he’d welcome it if he got the chance to pay Rufus back.

“I’m okay.” Her voice is small. She touches his wrist, grounding him.

He nods, but he can’t meet her eye. He’s too raw.

Suddenly he’s exhausted.

“You gonna tell me what happened?”

She just lets him finish undressing her, oh so gently edging the material around her ankle, patient, faux calm, all that unbridled energy humming underneath his skin -- the strength of their intimacy, their past, their present, the itch for violence and vengeance. Still she doesn’t answer, but her eyes are doleful.

Those damn Bambi eyes’ve always touched him in a place he pretends doesn’t exist.

The silence stretches on while he just as tenderly slides his sweatpants up her legs, purposely brushing his fingers against her inner thighs as he goes. She sucks in a breath, but he pretends he doesn’t hear.

He can’t fuckin’ help himself, not when it comes to her.

She doesn’t stop him.

“You wanna shower first?” he asks.

Elizabeth shakes her head.

Moving up to the headboard, he helps her sit up and untucks the sheets and blanket and turns them down. They work together to get her underneath them, Rio trying this time not to touch her too much. He’s played with fire enough for the night.

He can tell the meds have kicked in by the way her eyelids droop and the way she almost moves like liquid in his arms. By the time he’s going to the door, she’s practically out.

“He tried to -- He tried to touch me.”

Rio freezes, his hand on the doorknob, halfway to closing it.

She slurs her words a little, fighting not to be swallowed by sleep. “We were talking business, it was going well. Then he tried to hit on me.”

Rio turns, taking in her curved silhouette beneath the blankets, her arms folded so that her dainty hands tuck beneath her chin. Childlike, almost. Innocent.

“I tried to deflect, I tried to leave. He grabbed my wrist and pinned me against the desk. I fought back… I yelled. He lifted his hand to my neck and choked me.”

She’s not even looking at him as she recounts the events that got them here, staring like she’s seeing it in her mind.

“So I grabbed the bottle of whiskey on his desk and smashed it over his head,” she says, smiling, proud of herself. “He let go, I tried to run. He tackled me and I fell on my ankle. He just… just kept _swinging_ , grabbing at me, was telling me he was going to kill me.”

Her lip trembles. Rio tentatively sits next to her, not touching her, listening.

She sucks in a breath, and it’s watery. “I believed him, Rio. I believed he was going to kill me. So I grabbed what was left of the bottle and I….” She finally meets his eye. “I slashed at him, at his face, at his neck, at his hands, until he let me go. And then I ran.”

“Right into me,” Rio says lightly, injecting levity, needing the buoy.

Elizabeth laughs, but it’s small. “I was so stupid. Why did I do that? Why did I go?”

“Tryin’ to be a boss bitch,” he offers.

She shrugs. “But I’m not one, am I?”

He hesitates, his brain screaming at him not to do it, to resist, but there goes his hand, lifting to drag his pinky along her forehead, tucking her hair behind her ear and then sliding along her cheek to her chin. Elizabeth is caught, and her face crumples for just a second before she wrestles the emotion down.

He hasn’t touched her like this in a year, since before she shot him, and the memory of every time before echoes in this one, layers it with meaning.

He has to swallow before he speaks. “We workin’ on it.”

Something shifts in her eyes, but he can’t place it. All he knows is that steel is back, turning her blue eyes even darker.

“Go to sleep, mama.”

* * *

Rio sets up vigil in the armchair by her bed, wanting to keep an eye on her just in case.

Maybe wants to make sure she doesn’t get into trouble if she wakes up in the middle of the night and decides to explore.

He manages to fall asleep, head back, mouth open, hands folded on his belly, a dreamless, restless sleep that shatters when Elizabeth starts thrashing and whimpering on the bed.

“No!” Her voice is hoarse, barely there. “No!”

Rio jumps up, rushing to soothe her before she damages her ankle any further from her writhing, grabbing the bandaged hand closest to him and laying his other palm on the opposite shoulder. He shakes her sharply.

She jolts awake, sitting up quickly and almost colliding with his chin. Her eyes flit around, wild, still adjusting to the darkness, and she clutches his hand almost like she’s grounding herself. When she looks at him, she stutters out a breath.

“Rio…?”

“S’okay, mama, I got you. Lie back down.”

For once in her life, she listens to him -- but he blames it on the oxy.

“He was -- he was --” A choked little sob stops her for a second. “He was touching me, I tried to stop him, but he was on top of me…”

Rio shushes her, rubbing at her upper arm soothingly. “It’s okay, mama, you don’t gotta go through it.”

She nods and goes silent. Gazes at him with huge, soulful eyes.

He stares back.

He’s about to open his mouth, tell her to go back to sleep, deflect from this yawning hole that’s opened up in his chest since this whole goddamn thing began, but she beats him to it.

“My boots,” she whispers.

Rio freezes, stunned, expecting something else, something eerily close to _feelings_ and caught so off guard that it takes a moment before a grin splits across his face and he’s burying it against the mattress to smother his laughter.

Elizabeth just frowns at him, disdainful. “S’not funny, they were my favorite.”

That just sets him off even more.

When he finally calms, he perches his chin on his hand and his elbow on the bed, and says, “I’ll get you new boots, darlin’.”

Her eyebrows go up. “Really?”

“Mhm. Even get you a new mama van, if you want.”

They watch each other for a while, a timid smile turning the corners of her mouth up, Rio's smile slowly melting away.

The day’s events have made him more cognizant than ever that she has woven herself underneath his skin and burrowed between his bones and his organs like a relentless pest, claiming him as her own, making herself at home -- and the worst part is, he _welcomed_ her in and nurtured her habitat until even she couldn’t release her claws and retreat.

He has only himself to blame -- he’d sunk his teeth into her throat and refused to let go until she’d healed around him and made him a part of her, swallowed his venom and added it to her arsenal.

Yet still they dance around one another, never conceding, never compromising, addicted to this twisted game.

He wouldn’t change a thing.

Well.

He could do without the three bullets to the chest.

Could do with a lot more of the sex, too.

He’ll bring up negotiations soon.

Elizabeth’s eyes are drooping, the siren call of slumber too strong for her weakened defenses. She squeezes his hand and murmurs, “Don’t let go.”

He couldn’t if he tried.


End file.
